


The Toy Soldier Tattoo

by Bates



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: deancasbigbang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2016, F/F, F/M, Hospitals, M/M, Missing Persons, Nightmares, Tattoo Artist Castiel, Tattoos, mentions of kidnappings mention of character death, mentions of wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bates/pseuds/Bates
Summary: Two years after Sam disappears, police officials inform Mary and Dean Winchester there are no more trails for them to follow. The case is cold until new evidence makes its way over to them. It’s the day Dean gets his first tattoo. In honour of Sam. That night, he walks out of the tattoo shop with not only a brand new toy soldier tattoo on his thigh, but also with a crush on his ridiculously cute tattooist Cas.
As life continues and his relationship with Cas unfolds, life proves it will keep going on even without his brother and maybe, he should move on too.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy halloween everyone! c:
> 
> Before jumping straight into the fic, I have a few people to thank and links to share. First and foremost, I have to thank my amazing artist, [hellosaidthemoon.](http://hellosaidthemoonisafangirl.tumblr.com/) You can find her art [here](http://hellosaidthemoonisafangirl.tumblr.com/post/152579536269) and it would be my greatest pleasure if you could reblog her post! The art you made is absolutely gorgeous and working with you was such a pleasant experience! So yes, a major 'thank you for being so wonderful' is in order.  
> And secondly, thank you to the most amazing Misha (aka deanghostchester) for being my beta even though you were already so packed with stuff to do and lifting this fic up from the jumbled mess to what it is now. ♥
> 
> If you'd want to see what inspired me/what I listened to while writing, there's a [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/corpsceleste/writing-blackbird/) you can have a look at and a [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/mercifulsammy/playlist/2h3RsHP9cGO8dN0Vstm1py) playlist at your disposal. c:
> 
> To anyone wanting to read in Russian, [padacklinss](http://padacklinss.tumblr.com/) has been so wonderful as to translate the fic! You can **[read it here.](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4895496)**
> 
> Enjoy!

 

_“But I must admit I miss you terribly. The world is too quiet without you nearby.”_

**– Lemony Snicket** , _The Beatrice Letters_

 

 

 

**[KANSAS MEMORIAL]**

Her shoes squeak on the vinyl ER floors as Jo hurries back from the break room. She has only had a couple of minutes to sit down all day and her muscles are feeling it; they're aching and begging to rest, for her to just sit down for another ten minutes. _'Just three more hours,'_ she tells herself as she hurries to answer a patient's call, hoping the mantra will somehow make it easier to bear.

Up until just a few minutes ago, she was running on nothing but sheer willpower and caffeine. Sure, nursing school has taught her the tools of the trade: baby food pouches as quick energy-rich snacks, yoghurt with fruits and coffee are good to keep you on your feet. Energy drinks are too, in theory, but they wear off too fast and have too much sugar. But in practice, there's not always time for those tools. Most days, there is. Most days, she's perfectly fine and she finishes her shift with a smile on her face. Most days, she has the energy she needs to get through.  _Today, however._ Today is a gift from the devil himself; between patients, she's barely had time for anything but a few sips of coffee and one pouch, more than three hours ago now.

But queue Anna, who had walked in the break room with a grin on her lips and a box in her hands. A box that smelled suspiciously of doughnuts and warmth. They'd just grinned at each other before Anna told her and the other nurses in there to take one. Sure enough, Anna brought them doughnuts. With the way too sticky treat in her hands, Jo couldn't be anything but happy.

At least now she's back on her feet, she's not running on willpower and caffeine anymore, but willpower, caffeine and _sugar_. Which is much better in her book. Anna is an angel, her little red haired saviour. That, she decides seconds after the sugar rush kicks in.

There's a kid waiting for her in room one with a cut at his temple. As she works on dressing the wound, he tells her the story of how his mates were waiting downstairs but he couldn't leave his floor. How he had the quote-unquote  _amazing_  idea to climb out of his second-floor window at three am. Which, admittedly, Jo too has done it, it wasn’t that stupid an idea. Except that when Jo did it she was sober and had actually succeeded in climbing down to her girlfriend. He hasn’t.

The cut at his temple and the bruising on his upper arm will teach him.

 

With the night as busy as it is, it's an average one. The cases they're getting in are the same they have on an almost daily basis; stomach aches, minor cuts barely deep enough to get stitches, babies with small fevers whose parents are usually off worse than the children. It's the nights that Jo likes. As mundane as it may seem, she really does like them; it's comfortable and calming, a reminder that after the week from hell, things can be okay.

Especially when they are rounding up a week like this one, when they lose someone in their ER. It's been a couple of days now and even though they're not supposed to care too much, most of them do. The girl -- barely ten years old but with a very late stage case of sepsis --  had been too far gone for them to bring her back. They  fought for her, but sometimes, it just isn't meant to be. Her organs were failing, all her systems were slowly giving out. There's nothing to be done about that.

After that night, she just needed to let it out. Anna ended up hugging her close in the staff room, rubbing her bag to comfort her as she cried. So, yes, the routine has been great to make up for that night, but she can't help but wish for something different, something to keep them all awake. Something to help them power through the night.

 

 

By the time five am rolls around, Jo wishes she never said anything. The ambulance arrives fifteen minutes after the call came in and once they roll the stretcher in, there no longer is time for exhaustion or sleep. There's no more time to talk about how to get blood stains out of shirts (as she and Anna were talking about). All they can do is run next to the girl as she's being wheeled into a room and hope for the best.

"Found by the side of the road. Seems to have been hit, not sure. No ID, female, mid-twenties. She's stable, BP of 85 over 60, GCS of 8.” They are working on autopilot: bringing her into a room and moving her to a bed, hooking up monitors and checking her levels. She's still breathing - barely, but it's there. Her oxygen levels are dangerously low, her heart's working hard and struggling to keep up. There's no decency as they work. It used to get to Jo, seeing shirts being cut open and bras ruined so they could get access to skin, so they could work their magic. Not anymore.

This girl? She looks bad. Her skin is almost translucent and stretched tightly over her bones. Jo can almost count the ribs underneath her clavicle, see the valley where they part. There's so much blood, so much bruising. She can't be sure, but there are bones that look off, angles that aren't quite right. Even her nose seems wrong as if it has been broken and then clumsily set.

It'll be a miracle if she pulls through. It's a bitter thought, but true. Even if she pulls through, Jo can't imagine her having a life without side effects from it. As much as it might sound selfish, she hopes that if the girl goes, she does when she's not there; she just doesn't know if she can handle two deaths in one week.

 

 

In Jo Harvelle's words, working through the end of the night shift is like beating a hangover: the lights are too bright, there is a headache pounding against her skull (who knows if it's the exhaustion or the lack of sleep or maybe the stress of the day) and all she wants to do is sit down and sleep. It sounds so good to her, just going to bed or laying down on the couch and sleep for five days straight.

The ambulance arriving forced them to push past the exhaustion, to clear the fog that usually descended over the nursing staff. For her, it comes back in full swing the second she lets herself fall down in the break room, every muscle in her body sighing in relief. She's already changed into her own clothes, into non-blood stained slacks and a sweater, but making that final stretch home seems too much, too long. No. This is much better. The couch is more comfortable than she remembers.  Much more comfortable.

"You did good out there.”  The couch dips when someone sits down next to her -- Anna, Jo realises when she glances.

"Thanks," she mumbles, "doesn't feel like it."

"Settle." So, Jo does as she's told, curling up with her head on Anna's lap. "Poor girl. She's not looking good, is she?" She hasn't seen her, but Jo knows the word is already spreading. It always does. "I wonder what happened to her."

"No. It'll be a miracle if she's still here tomorrow." Anna runs her fingers through her hair, touches gentle and reassuring. If Jo hadn't already been drifting between sleep and waking, this would have done it, this would have pulled her right into sleep. “I just hope she will be when I come in tomorrow. And that we’ll know her name.”

She doesn't want to know what happened to her. The girl's body tells enough of a story: she has both old and new scars, burns on her hips, wrists and sides. Small enough to barely be noticeable -- small enough to be cigarette burns. Needle marks. Jo kept thinking while they were working that it couldn't get worse. Each time, the girl proved that it could get worse and would.

“Come on, I’ll get you home.” Jo protests quietly at this, holding on to her to prevent her from getting up. "Sleep at home. Not here. You'll be there soon enough." Anna laughs, though quietly, and detangles Jo from her lap, stands up.

“God, I hate you sometimes.” The couch sounds like a perfect place to sleep on for her. Especially now.

“You wish you hated me. I brought you sugar, you love me.” She can't deny that. “Come on. We can maybe stop for coffee on the way.” That's the magic word. _Coffee_. “Starbucks should be open. Food and coffee without ever having to get out of the car.”

“Fine. Cool. You got me.” Anna stretches out her hand, to pull her up. Reluctantly, she allows her to pull her up and away, to the car, then home and finally, to blissful sleep.


	2. One

 

**[Lawrence Police Office]**

Dean knows the Lawrence police office like the back of his hand. He knows which turns will take them to which corridors, what the cells look like. Once upon a time, during a tour of the station, John had taken him and toddler Sammy to the cells and locked them into one. They'd laughed so much that day and gotten sweet stuff from the cafeteria before their mother came to pick them up again. That day, his father taught them a trick on how to get shake the vending machine in the waiting area to get the right bit of food out there without actually paying -- he still uses that up to this day. Dean walks to his father's old desk almost on auto-pilot now, even though it's been years since his father sat there. Still, he flinches when he sees Hendriksen's moody boots leaning on the wood instead of his father's.

“I’m really sorry, Mary,” Henriksen offers, “I wish there was more we could do.” At least he looks apologetic. "We've exhausted all possibilities."

Sam’s face is still staring down at him from the missing person’s board. The edges have started to yellow from exposure, _it’s been that long_. Looking back on it now, Dean wishes they’d picked another photo; one that would show more of the actual Sam instead of the freshman fifteen chubby-cheeked Sam. He knows when his brother returns, he’ll hate them for picking that one. He’ll smack him in the head and say ‘Really Dean? This is what you decided on?’ It will be like the old days. Just them acting like they always have, being normal, being brothers again.

Except, that won’t happen now, will it? Sam’s probably not coming back. Odds are against him, have been for a very long time. They’ve just blindfolded themselves and stumbled on in the dark; searching, reaching for anything to help them cope. Searching for Sam's hand to guide them through letting him go.

Dean has wondered when the day would come. He’s imagined how he’d feel many times. He always thought hearing that his brother’s case would be pushed to the back burner would hurt. He thought he’d be angry, furious. He thought he’d be tearing down walls. He thought he'd be yelling and screaming. Punching things.

Instead, he’s numb to it. Maybe it’s for the better, feeling nothing rather than everything at once. But there’s ice running through his veins and his heart can’t keep up with it.

 

 

The drive home is quiet: neither of them reach for the radio nor do they speak. The soft humming of the Impala’s engine is the only thing they can hear. Dean is too preoccupied to make conversation in the fifteen minutes it takes them to drive to his childhood home. If his thoughts are in scrambles, he can’t imagine what it must be like for Mary. His mother, who only asks him if he wants coffee before heading straight to the kitchen -- god she must be hurting. The clatter of the mugs and the coffee grinder are painfully loud in the small room. If he’s completely honest, he’d rather have something stronger, something with a kick. Just enough to punch him in the gut, make him forget the news they got. But he can't ask her. So they grab their coffees and sit down like on Sundays after church.

Dean hates seeing his mother like this; staring into the distance with her hands folded around her mug. She insisted he should come home with her, have some coffee, talk with her for a while. 'Make some time for your dear old mother.' Truth be told, he’s missed their mother, too. He's missed spending more time with her. If he can still call her that. _Their mother_.  Not his.

“So it’s over,” he says quietly, his fingers laced around the cup -- mirroring her. “They’re not looking anymore.” The case lost most of its leads last year, after Christmas. They can’t keep looking for Sam when there is nothing to hold on to. They’ve been looking, turning every stone upside down, but there’s _nothing_. Not even a breadcrumb. “He’s really gone now.” His skin crawls, admitting it out loud. The words feel wrong in his mouth.

Dean’s a smart guy. He’s seen it before, read the news reports. They can only look for a body for so long.  They’re not looking for a living person anymore — are no longer looking for a version of his brother who is living and breathing, we can laugh. Instead, they’re looking for a corpse. 

“We knew this would happen.” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “It’s been too long.”

“Yeah, but it hasn’t been that long.” Sam would have turned twenty-five this year. “He could still be out there.” The police haven’t searched every corner. The anger starts to twist in Dean’s gut, ugly and painful. He knows he’s kidding himself.

“If he is, he’s dead,” she says, disconnected. “It’s been too long, Dean. Everyone has been coming back empty handed.” He’s surprised when the look she throws him is not that of sadness. It’s not the hopelessness he’s seen in her the past couple of months. It's fierceness, _pleading_. “He could have survived weeks, months maybe. Not years.”

“They shouldn’t-”

“Dean. Let’s talk about something else.” She smiles at him, but the smile is barely there. One look from his mother still silences him, even though he’s twenty-eight now. It’s not because she seems angry with him or because he’s done something wrong. She’s sad. She’s mourning Sam, he realises. “Your car got quite the attention at the office.”

“I know.” Even if they have no reason to smile, he does so anyway. It’s easier, to ignore Sam and push it all to the back of his mind.  If his mother uses the Impala, to get them talking about something that doesn’t tear at their hearts, he’ll gladly accept it. After all, it’s never a bad time to talk about the Impala, no matter how shitty this day has been. She always stands out amongst the other cars, especially at the police station where most of her competitors are classes underneath her.

Amongst the police cars, she’s a beauty. Admittedly, he takes pride in her, in how much attention she gets. After all the work he’s put into her, she deserves it.

“Your brother would have been proud of you, for finishing her.” She squeezes his hand tightly, smiling wider now. “So incredibly proud.”

“Oh, she ain’t finished.” He can only smile too now. “Only when Sammy sees her.” He’s made sure to get the little details right, from the toy soldiers in the vents to the cassette tapes his brother loved. She’ll be ready for him when he comes back.

 

 

Castiel doesn't quite mind the slow morning. Ever since the salon opened at nine, they've had quite an easy day. Neither Benny or he planned a lot for the day and with their location, not a lot of people come in for walk-in tattoos. The quiet gives him time to work on personal projects, which Benny allows him to do.

Last appointment was the girl that morning, coming in for a constellation tattoo. Ursula Major, if Cas isn't mistaken. He paid attention when the girl explained it, he really did. He's just forgotten it in the last hour or two, since he started working on his next tattoo.  Benny had asked him a while ago to sketch something up for himself, so Cas could have a tattoo from him, if he wanted. Which, admittedly, Cas does want. He’s just not quite far enough as to where it has a concrete shape or placement yet.

When the door opens, he snaps his head around to where the newcomer is standing. New people mean that there is something interesting going on. Or at least, possibly. If they don't ask for Benny. He is, after all, the famous one of the two. He's the guy people see pass by on Instagram and are impressed with. People talk about Benny, recommend him. Cas has fewer options for that. He's newer to the world, fewer people know him. Even if his follower base is growing, people still don't know him all that well.

"Well look what the cat dragged in!" Benny says cheerfully. "Dean! Long time no see."

"Hiya, Benny," the guy -- Dean, Cas presumes -- says with a small grin on his lips. “Do you still have that sketch you drew for me? The one for Sammy?” Cas may be imagining it, but he thinks he hears his voice waver ever so slightly as if the smile isn't as genuine as it's supposed to be.

"Sure thing." Benny glances over to the clock. "You want to get it done today?" The guy just nods. "I don’t think I got time today, kid. Got one coming in in an hour."

"I see."

"We could do it tonight if you’re free. After hours?”

Castiel doesn't mean to tune their conversation out, but it happens anyway. There is something about Dean that draws him in. The way he and Benny talk is easy, they're clearly friends -- good friends, maybe -- and for reasons he has yet to figure out, he doesn't expect it. Dean doesn’t look like the typical guy they get in - his plaid, jeans and work shoes make him look like more of a run-of-the-mill guy, not someone Benny usually hangs out with.

It's not that which draws his attention, though; it's his face. He can't look away, not really. Maybe it's the eyes or the way he holds himself, but something captivates Cas and he can't figure out what it is. It's infuriating.

He tunes back in to their conversation just in time to hear Benny say they're closing the shop the next week -- Benny is out of town and Cas has family events planned -- but that he may be able to come in the Monday after that, when they open again.

"Sorry, Dean," he says, apologetic. "If you want you can take the drawing to someone else. It’s good with me.” The look Dean throws Benny tells Cas he really doesn’t want to do that.

“I don’t know - you got any recommendations? I can't mess this one up." He shakes his head. "You know what, it's okay. I can wait. It's cool."

“Again, really sorry, Dean."  Benny falls silent for a minute, glances at him and when their eyes meet, he speaks again. "Actually, you know what. Sure thing? I got a guy for ya. Cas, you're not busy this afternoon, right? You had your appointment with that girl this morning, right?”

"She did," he confirms, confused. "Not busy. Why?"

“Perfect. He's the guy I was talking about." Dean's eyes flicker over him, as if he's sizing him up, seeing if he can trust this guy with his body. Cas doesn't blame him. "Show him your portfolio, Cas. He can redo the sketch so it fits his style and he can do the tattoo. I'll be right here watching over his shoulder." _Oh, so reassuring_. "I'll make sure he does a good job. How 'bout that?"

"Sounds good to me, I think,” Dean says.

 

They don't really talk that much after Dean has looked through his book and given his okay. Cas makes the alterations he needs, Dean approves them and then all they have to do is get this show on the road. The placement of the tattoo is...interesting. It's not that Castiel really minds doing thigh tattoos or getting them done. The prospect of leaning over Dean’s leg for three hours certainly isn't a bad one -- it really isn't. There are worse fates than being hunched over an attractive guy and getting paid for it. Really.

Dean's tattoo would be different than the one he thought he would be getting upon walking in. Their styles are too different from each other to fully match, but he'd didn't seem to mind it all that much.

Benny seems to approve of his work. It surprises Cas a little, that Benny who is ever so protective over his drawings, only nods approvingly when he comes to check up on them and continues to work on his own.

He's a pleasure to work with, really. Dean, that is. It’s not the first time he’s getting inked and it shows in the way he holds himself. He tries to be as relaxed as possible, to be calm. More specifically, he's not afraid of the needle, doesn't flinch at the stinging. He just grits his teeth and does his best to stay quiet. They work in silence for most of it. At least until he starts shading, and his facade drops. Even though he really need to keep his mind at the tattoo and his work, Cas starts up a conversation, tries to keep him distracted.  They start talking a little bit, first about Dean’s previous tattoo and why he got it. He's easy and nice to chat with; talks freely without being forced, knows to allow for some pauses without them being awkward.

“Sammy used to love them, you know,” Dean says, grimace on his lips. "Dad had this car and he'd always play with these soldiers, you know. After a while, they got stuck in the vents." The small smile pulls wider on his lips and for a moment, Cas is distracted as he goes back in for more ink.

“Is he older or younger?”

“Younger.” He seems a lot happier now then when he came in, Cas notices. "I got to do all the blaming. Good kid though, Stanford. Can you imagine? Kid got all of the brains of the family. Just like my mom. Should've been a lawyer by now." Castiel doesn't look up until a pause falls. "Actually, I don’t know. Maybe he’d still be studying. Sammy tried to explain everything to me a while ago but that stuff  just goes over my head, you know?  Law’s complicated. He never got to finish his junior year, so I guess I wouldn’t know.”

“Law is complicated," Cas allows, smiling. "Did something happen? You don't have to tell if you don't want to."

“Yeah." Dean's leg tenses up again when he goes over places he’d been before. "We still don't know why or what happened. Nothing for sure at least. They’re not actively looking for him anymore, so I guess we’ll never know." He falls silent for a few moments. "Actually, they did that this morning, hauled me and my mom in to tell us the news. Kudos for them to not mention it over the phone.”

Cas doesn't know what to say to that. _I’m sorry_ seems forced and awkward. Even though the words don't make anything better, he says them anyway. Dean just grimaces at them.

“Yeah, thanks. We knew, it’s nothing. Just figured, you know, if Sammy’s probably not coming home, might as well keep him here with me. Even if it’s on my leg.”

“Sorry Benny couldn’t do it.” Cas glances over to Benny, who by now is working by the desk, checking his appointments. “It probably would have meant more if he did it.”

“If Benny trusts you to do it, I trust him. It’s still his drawing. Already have one tattoo by him anyway. Thanks, for this.”

"Of course."

 

Dean's grinning by the time Cas pats his leg and tells him he's good to go check it out in the mirror. After Sam, they moved on to lighter subjects, about Cas and his siblings (or lack thereof), tattoos he has, how Benny and he ended up getting to know each other. At some point, Benny joins them in their talking and the mood brightens even more.

It's easy, talking to Dean. He's very matter of fact. When he speaks about the death of their father and the licence plate tattoo he got for him, he almost sounds detached from it. He lights up afterwards though, when Benny asks him something about the Impala and Dean starts telling them all about it; about restoring the car, how long he worked on it to make sure it's perfect.

Benny watches them all the while. At first, he came over to check up, but once the line work is done, he let them be. He just moves on to whatever he has to do — Cas quite honestly doesn’t pay that much attention to him — and lets him work.

“Good job, kid. Couldn’t have done it much better than that.” It's a compliment in his book. “You driving home with that, Dean?”

“Was planning to, yeah. Can’t leave my baby behind, can I? Besides, it’s alright. Most of the sting will come later.”

“Jeans will rub against it, even with the wrap. Try to leave it be for as much as you can once you get home, it’ll heal faster,” he advises Dean. “Joggers are good for these kinds of things. Lounging in front of the tv in just boxers or something if you can.” Cas himself lived in boxers and joggers the first few days after he got the tops of his thighs tattooed. Doing them both in the same week had been a bad idea, probably - both for his skin and his wallet - but it was what he wanted, so he went through with it.

“Take good care of it and it should quite a bit better within two to three weeks. Fully healed, three to four? It all depends.”

 

 

 

Dean  heard Cas when he said to get something light, breezy, to not put on anything too tight and leave it to air. He accepted that as advice, but come to think of it, he's choosing to ignore it in search of alcohol. Or well, that is today. Three days after the tattoo. He's been good about keeping everything clean and taken care off. There are only so many days one can stay cooped up, lounging around in the house in boxers and a shirt.

Plus, Jo has her day off today and with their luck, the chances of their schedules aligning are about as big as the chance to spot a unicorn. He can't let that pass him by. Ever since she started her job at the hospital, she's been busy. Busy enough for them to slowly start seeing each other once a week, then every other week to once a month. It's making the times they do get to hang our more fun, but it also sucks. Majorly.

Sure, Jo loves bitching about her night shifts - which, okay, he gets that, night shifts suck - and talking about her mile-high crush on a girl who he is almost one hundred percent sure is into her as well. He’s heard the stories and well, anyone who allows you to sleep on their lap and runs their fingers through your hair is into you in Dean's book. Especially if you’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks. But then again, who is Dean to talk.

“Still haven’t talked to her, have you?” he asks her, amused. She just looks down to her beer. "Jesus. Jo, seriously? You're usually on top of it." The first mention of Anna was a couple of weeks ago and ever since, it's been consistent. Anna this, Anna that. She must be the sweetest cookie for Jo to be so all over her.

“I know,” she groans, head in her hands. “I just don’t want to fuck this up, you know?” She glances around to her mother, who is on the other end of the bar, talking happily with other patrons.  “Look, if I didn’t know she was gay, things would be great. I mean, bad but better. I could write her off as straight and she’d forever be the Tragic Straight Crush. This is different. Unless straight girls now wear pride buttons, that is. I mean, I suppose they do because they're Such Great Allies.”

“Then why don’t you just ask her? It’s not that hard. ‘Hey Anna, grab a drink with me?’”

“It’s not that easy, Dean.” She shakes her head, giving him an exasperated look. “Look. Yesterday, she offered to drive me home. It had been a long day, okay. We got a girl who was very badly off. Miracle she pulled through in the first place. I was beat.” The bags under her eyes  told him as much when she came in, but he respectfully shut up about it. He's sure he doesn't look that much better anyway. “I fell asleep in her car. She let me crash on her couch and then made us both breakfast at like... five pm without even minding anything. Just acted as if it was the most normal thing. She’s so frustrating.”

He brings his bottle of beer to his lips. _God, that feels good_. “At least you know she’s single now.”

“True, I suppose. God, that would have been awkward. ' _Hey babe, who’s the stranger sleeping on our couch?'_ ” He snorts. “Still. It was a nightmare. Enough of my nonexistent love life. It’s pathetic. What’s going on with you, Dean?”

“Ha. I thought we were talking about something not pathetic.” He doesn't need to be reminded of his embarrassing crush on his best friend’s new tattooer. “Because you’re wrong if you think I’m not.” Dean has to admit he’s ah… thought about Cas more than he should have. He found himself refreshing his page a couple of times. When he eventually posted the pic of Dean’s tattoo and the caption said something really nice — Dean honestly couldn’t remember what it was — his heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t just the fact that Cas is handsome, because yeah, Mother Nature sure played her cards right with Cas _hot damn_ , but something about him makes his heart beat faster and his palms get just a little bit sweaty.

“Oh come on, Dean. I shared. Pay up. No crushes? Anyone new in your life? Please.”

“Not...really? Maybe.” He shakes his head. It's stupid. More than stupid maybe, a signature Dean Winchester thing to do. “You know I finally got Sammy’s tattoo?”

“Please don’t tell me you have a crush on Benny. Because that would be awkward.”

At that, he bursts out laughing. “God. No.” He had a crush on him back in the day, years ago. It was fleeting and more idolising than anything. But what else was he supposed to do? Benny is a fucking king in the kitchen, what else could Dean do but fall in love with him. “He has a new guy tattooing with him.”

“Cas, right?” she asks. “He’s doing my tattoo in a couple of days.”

“Yeah, it’s him. He did mine too, he’s awesome.” He feels himself grinning as he remembers how careful Cas was while working on him. How gentle. How nice he was to talk to. “You’ll like him, I think. Got this wicked tattoo on his arm.” Dean stared at it while Cas worked and okay, maybe it was at his face more than the tattoo, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I’ve been trying to find an excuse to see the guy again and it’s… not working.”

“Do I hear that right? Dean Winchester having trouble charming a guy? Did we end up in some alternative universe? Am I dreaming?” Jo is practically grinning. “Are you sick? Mom has a thermometer. Maybe you should go lie down.”

“Oh, Har-Har. Very funny.” His finger trails over the top of his beer bottle. “I was off my game.”

“Sure Dean, what if you weren’t off of your game?”

He has no other choice, he needs to take out the big guns. He rummages through his pockets for his phone and pulls up Cas’ Instagram. “Look for yourself, Jo Harvelle. Don’t think you’d be above him if you were into guys.”

“I’ll give you that,” she admits, thoughtfully. “You're right about that tattoo. What threw you off?”

“Sammy.” He told her earlier that night, how they have stopped looking for his brother. How Sam is never coming home now, unless they find his body by accident. The thought still hurts, even if it still has that bitter edge of numbness to it.

“I know.” Any mention of his brother is a stop to any conversation. Even with Jo, who has known him for years, who has helped Dean baby sit his brother when he was still a toddler needing a diaper change. She's grieving too, he supposes, in her own way. Whenever something happens, she pushes herself deeper into work, forces herself to work harder. He's seen her do it when her father passed away, not too long before his father did. “So they’ve given up?”

“They had no reason to keep on, I suppose. They haven’t had much to go on after the last lead died.” Dean knows that now, now that his anger about the whole situation has faded a bit. The anger's still there, boiling inside of him every chance it gets. There really is no place to look, not anymore. It's been years since even psychics have come knocking on their door to tell them that his brother is still out there, alive or dead.

His mother never believed them, the psychics, but they looked anyway, even if they weren't legit and what they said was too good to be true. Almost every time, it was exactly that. Too good to be true. More than once, they got their hopes up, only to learn they'd wasted more time, more people. Best they found were his brother's keys, deep down in some bush by the side of the road. There's been no more trace since.

“It still sucks.” She lifts her bottle in the air, waiting for him to toast. “To Sam.”

“To Sam.” They aren't toasting to this. They can't be. And yet they both drown their beers and signal to Jo's mom for another round.

He shakes his head. “You know we can’t even bury anything? The guy explained it to us yesterday.” It's part of what made his mother so sad, the prospect of having to wait five more agonising years. To live five more years with that little spark of hope that maybe one day, he might appear anyway before they can bury anything. An empty coffin. “He’ll have to be missing for seven years and then we can go to court, have them rule it so he’s declared dead.”

There's still a chance they won't allow him to. It's rare, surely, but it can happen sometimes. Maybe they'll get a lead one day and they will think they'll find him. “Guy can’t even have a grave of his own. What bullshit is that? Even if he’s dead, lying underground somewhere, he can’t even go home.

And that's what is breaking his heart most of all, really. His brother can never go home. He doesn’t have a home anymore. Only the soil he might or might not be buried in.

 

They're laughing again by the time Dean drops her off at her apartment. Neither of them is really drunk, barely pleasantly buzzed. Hopefully not enough to get a hangover the next morning, but just enough to have all of their worries pushed to the side.

“I’m expecting you at that salon with me,” she says, turning her body to face him. "You might not be able to help me with my crush on Anna but I damn well will help you with yours.”

He doesn't know quite what to say to that, he just lets her hug him and tells her good night before driving home himself.

 

 

 

Dean remembers the night when they first time got the notice they found a body which might be Sam's very clearly.  Even after years and multiple visits to the police station, he remembers. Remembers sitting in the morgue next to his mother, her hand trembling where it was intertwined with his on his jeans.

The moments right before they lifted the sheet were the most tense ones in his life. He remembers the sheer relief that flooded through his veins whenever the body turned out not to be Sam’s. Yet, it was not all that was there. There was also the disappointment, the grief for another family who would know.

If it had been Sam, they'd have closure now. They would know his brother has come home, that he's gone. It would mean they would no longer  hurt. Or in the least, their hurt would change. They would have to learn to live without him, without holding hope he'll knock on the door with the biggest smile and say that he's back, for good.

The reason Dean remembers so vividly is because he relives it almost every night. Because he still wakes up in the middle of the night with sweat running down his back and the blankets tangled around his legs.

Each night in his dream, he sees his brother lying pale and dead and bleeding on the floor. Each night, he screams his lungs out, calling for his brother to be okay.

_He never is._


	3. two

Both of them are quiet on the way over to the tattoo shop. Jo is fidgeting in the seat next to him, her fingers swirling in her scarf and then untwirling. She's got reason to be nervous; it's her first tattoo, she doesn't quite know Benny as well as Dean does. Dean doesn't have reason to be nervous, yet he stood in front of his pile of shirts for fifteen minutes this morning. He still stood there by the time Jo knocked on his door. After her laughing fit  ended -- which Jesus, girl can laugh -- she helped him, though, and he's thankful.

“Your first, right?” Dean asks her when they pull into the parking lot. "You'll be okay. Cas is great." He hopes it can reassure her. "He's gentle too, probably the best kind of guy you can get for you first tattoo.” He nudges her side, small smile on his lips. “If it helps, you can squeeze my hand. How ‘bout that?”

“Perfect.” The small grin returns to her lips and he's glad for it. “Ready to see your crush again, Dean-o?”

“Oh, shut it.” If focusing on his crush on Cas will help her get through, he doesn't mind it too much.

 

Admittedly, Dean feels a little awkward at first. He knows what he wants to say, but his mouth has forgotten how to form words and somewhere along the way his tongue has forgotten which vowel was which movement.

“You must be Jo,” Cas says, shaking her hand before turning to him. “Hello again, Dean.”

“Hi Cas. Someone needs to be there to hold her hand.” He’s almost surprised at how he doesn’t stumble over his words, how he’s not _that_ awkward. _Score one for Winchester!_ “That’s what best friends are for, aren’t they?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Let me show you what I drew up for you,” Cas offers.”We can enlarge it a bit if you want to.”

“Benny not around?” Dean asks, scanning around the room.

“Just went to grab something to eat, should be back in a few.”

 

Dean watches them from afar as they go through the motions and Jo checks out the placement of the tattoo. Cas has pulled up a chair for him to lean on so he can sit with them and he's thankful. The thought of standing for over an hour isn't something he was looking forward to.

Just like with Dean's tattoo, they don't talk all that much. Jo clenches her teeth and squeezes the hell out of Dean’s hand while Cas works. He sort of wonders if he still has bones or if they've been crushed to shreds by the time Cas finishes up the shading. She powers through, though. Even when Cas offers her a five-minute break a couple of times, she doesn't take him up on it.

Each time, Cas just shakes his head, looks at Dean for a minute, smiles and looks back down again, working on. The shading and smaller stuff turns out to be more fun. Or well...it’s more fun for Dean, who is not suffering except for the pain in his hands were Jo’s squeezing the hell out of them. They actually get to talk for a while and again, it's easy to talk to Cas.

They talk about Dean's taking care of his tattoo and how it's healing -- which, it's doing great, really. Benny came in earlier with sandwiches for all of them, but only joins them now, also asking about the tattoo, saying hello. For a moment, Dean feels oddly at home, with all his old and new friends there. They're just laughing, Benny and he talking about tattoos and Cas and Jo talking about her job at the hospital. When Jo mentions that she works at the hospital—which is why she’s getting her tattoo on her back, so that she can hide it relatively easily—Cas perks up.

"Oh, do you know Anna then? My cousin? Anna Milton."

"Hell yeah, do I know her," Jo says, grinning. Her cheeks slowly turn tomato red as she realises how enthusiastic she’s being. "I work with her. She's great."

"I haven't seen her in a while," Cas admits, "It's busy. How's she doing?"

"Good. Exhausted, but good, I think so at least." Just like that, they're off for the remainder of the session. Dean can't even say that he minds.

 

They're almost at the car when Dean tells Jo he needs to go ask Cas something about touch ups for the tattoo and slips back to the shop. In essence, it is the truth. He has been meaning to ask him about possible touch ups in the future, it's just not what he's asking right now.

After realising Anna is Cas's cousin, an idea started growing inside his brain. When coming in, Jo promised to help him with his crush and get him to talk to Cas again. This is his chance to do the same for her, or at least attempt to.

"Back so soon, Dean?' Benny asks. "Forgot something?"

"Nah," he can't help the small smile that stretches across his lips. "Just got a question for Cas. He's still here, right?"

“Yeah, in the back. You know how to get there.” Benny points him towards the all too familiar small kitchen in the back, the one Dean helped him install when he just started to set up the shop. “Dean -” He just nods, turning back to him. “Falling in love with my tattooist won’t get you free tattoos. You’ll pay like everyone.” Benny is smiling, though.

“Noted, chief.”

"Good. Off you go."

 

 

They decide to meet up at the end of that week, at a local diner Dean has always loved. To his surprise, Cas was on board straight away when Dean proposed meeting up with all four of them. He's even the one who asked if the diner would be okay—something Dean is grateful for in a way. He's missed coming here. The owners are good people, people who know both him and Sam. When they were kids, their parents always took them there. They always ordered the same things.

After Sam disappeared they stopped coming by as often. Now it’s just the two of them, they only eat here on Sam's birthday, they remember him that, sitting down and ordering what he always chose; a plain burger with a side salad and some curly fries. It's what feels right; if he can't be with them, they have to remember him.

They’re not here for Sam today, strangely enough. The four of them are here for what he _really_ tries not to call a double date.  Cas and he may be pretending they’re just here so that

Anna's a good girl. Not that all of Jo's stories could make him think anything else. He's still been weary about her, though. It's not like he wants to be controlling - he just wants to make sure that Jo's treated right. She isn't a saint, she's not that vulnerable, but protecting the people he loves is part of what he does. Especially since that time she knocked on his apartment door and told him that life is unfair and love was just a fucking horror show.  Even now, Dean’s not quite sure why she reacted to the break-up that badly. They hadn’t been together for that long and in all honesty, it hadn’t seemed like they were that attached to each other. But he hadn’t dared to ask.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s good to finally meet you,” he says, grinning when Jo pokes him in the ribs. Her cheeks are growing redder and redder by the moment.

“Oh?” Jo's still pointedly looking outside, to the joy of both Dean and Cas.

“Nothing shy of good,” he promises her. “Anyone who brings Jo doughnuts and coffee gets on her good side.” Next to him, Jo visibly relaxes. "Girl lives on coffee, don't you?" She just hums in reply.

“Doing my best to keep her alive on night shifts,” Anna says with a smile. “Can't lose a set of hands. God knows it's been busy."

"People die if we do that, Dean," Jo chips in. "We need to keep the forces alive."

"I could say the same for you, by the way," Anna says, looking over at Cas. "Cas has said plenty about you.”

“Really now?” Dean looks over to Cas, their eyes meeting for a brief minute before he looks away. Cas is blushing too and god, should that be illegal. “Nothing bad, I hope?”

“Oh, he couldn’t.” In that moment, he's not sure his heart's still beating. Nor is  he sure that Cas is still breathing. Is he even?

“Only as much as you have been talking about Jo,” Cas quips back. “I’d say it’s fair.”

"Fair enough indeed."

 

 

 

The tense mood only lasts until the waiter comes to take their order. Afterwards, it's easy to move on to other subjects. Anna's tales about stuff that happens at the ER are easy distractions from just how close Cas is and how, if he reaches out, he can touch Dean accidentally.

The girl Jo mentioned a couple of days ago has been doing better lately. Dean has to admit he's forgotten about their Jane Doe, but the police have been called and they're running her through their databases, to see if they can find her somewhere.

"We don't really get to know more," Jo shrugs, "we've got a name now though, Jessica. It's nice to know. But enough hospital talk. It's our day off." She throws a smile at Anna. "Unless you're up for more."

Cas picks up telling the stories after that. While Dean almost expects him to be talking about people he's met in the shop -- there almost have to be  interesting folks out there -- he doesn't. He mainly talks about Benny, in fact. About how he's gained at least a couple of pounds since he started working and living with him. Or well, living in the apartment next to him, as he explains.

“Not even because he always brings me food,” he admits. “I mean, he does when he’s baking or when he knows I’m not feeling good, and it’s great. It’s just that once he starts cooking the entire hall will smell like curries or like dessert and you’ll get hungry. It’s torture. Mostly because I couldn’t cook to save my life, but.”

“Have you ever tried his apple pies?” Dean asks. The smile that stretches across Cas’s lips says enough. He knows them. He certainly does. “They’re to die for, am I right?”

Dean has vivid memories about those apple pies. He remembers standing next to Benny, helping him roll out dough or simmering down apples in the hours before the searches for Sam started. His mom wanted him to be busy and Benny could use the help.

Benny offered to make food for everyone back then and never backed down from it. Dean was grateful for it. He still is thankful for it, More than once or even five times, he was calmed down by bowls of soup and pieces of cakes or pies made by him after they didn't find anything.

Dean owes him majorly for that.

 

It's almost eleven by the time they leave the diner. Dean can barely feel the effect of the beers they've drunk, but it's a pleasant buzz in the background. It makes the world just a bit kinder, for a moment.

Jo and Anna are just exhausted enough to walk close to each other, bumping into each other and smiling every few steps. If Dean didn't know better, he'd think they're drunk, but they're not. They're just stupidly crushing on each other hard enough to think they're being sneaky about it.

But then again, Dean can't blame them. It feels like he isn't that much sneakier about his crush on Cas. Cas, who is walking next to him, rummaging through his pockets even though he doesn't seem to find what it is he's looking for.

“I think our plan worked." Cas nudges him in the side when he doesn't immediately look up and when he does, he can't help but smile. Jo and Anna are standing by Cas's car, Jo standing against the car with one arm outstretched, barely touching Anna's. Dean guesses they're talking or something, because he can hear them laugh, but then the sound cuts out and Anna kisses Jo.

Even from a distance, it's disgustingly sweet. Dean can't help but feel proud. “Job well done, I’d say,” he says, looking over at Cas again.

Cas is grinning too and for a moment, it only makes his smile broaden. Cas looks good when he smiles, when he's happy. Really good. “I bet you a fiver they’ll come asking if it’s okay that Anna drops Jo off.”

“I know my cousin well enough to know that is exactly what’ll happen. I'm not ready to lose my money. Why do you think I let her drive me here?"

“Thinking ahead. I like it.” It's easy to grin with Cas around. Or well, everything seems to be a little bit easier when he's there. "Maybe don't forget you don't have your car keys on you next time, though."

"Probably," he muses. “I had fun tonight, by the way.”

“Thanks for working with me on the plan," Dean says and then, almost as an afterthought he adds; "I had fun tonight too. Didn't peg you for such a talker."

“Any time. If I can help my cousin finally shut up about Jo, I will take the chance," he says. "Didn't think you'd be so quiet."

"You tell interesting stories, so do Jo and Anna," he shrugs. "Of course I listen. Plus, most of my stories are about police offices and cars these days. Don't think you'd be so interested in the cars we get in."

"Try me, next time." Cas smiles at him. "We can -- oh, watch it. Here they come."

No matter how much Dean wants to see what their counter parts are up to, he can't help but wish Cas would have just finished that sentence instead.

 

It goes just as they predicted: Anna comes to ask if it would be okay if Dean could drop off Cas and they both pretend to act surprised.

"Oh, I don't know," Dean says, hoping his voice sounds doubtful enough. "Cas, your apartment is way out of my route, man. Are you cool with walking there? I think I might have to drop off Jo any-" He can't help but laugh. "Go drop off your crush, Anna. I'll see if I can give your cousin here a lift."

"Thanks, Dean," she says before going back to her car, where Jo is already waiting for her.

"I could call a cab," Cas offers, "if it is out of your way. That's good with me."

"It's no problem Cas, really. Besides, you live in Benny's building, that's like twenty minutes from my place. It's fine. I'm not that tired." Dean nudges him towards the car. "Besides, you've got to meet my Baby at some point."

The confusion that falls over Cas's face for a moment is really adorable. Even though it shouldn't be, it really shouldn't.

 

They drive home mostly in silence. They start off with the music louder, but during the drive, both of them keep turning it down just a little, until it's just loud enough to be background noise.

At first, when they've just left, it seems like Cas is lost in thought. Now, Dean knows it's the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. By the time they've pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, he can barely keep himself awake.

“Hey, Cas. You need to get to bed, man. You can sleep in a minute.”

“Shh, five more minutes." He turns his face away from Dean, to hide from him and quite possibly the noise. It shouldn't be this cute, and yet. “Just five more minutes is all I need.”

“Gimme your keys.”

"What?" It's barely more than a mumble, but it stirs Cas into action. Five minutes later, Dean's holding the keys in one hand and is supporting Cas with the other while they go up the two flights leading to Cas's floor.

Getting him out of the car seems easy compared to the struggle it is to get him up the stairs. Dean's more than once been tempted to just carry him up bridal style, but it doesn't feel fair.

“Stay up for me, will you?” he asks him, letting him lean against the doorframe as he fiddles with the keys to the apartment. "Let me unlock it first." Naturally, because it's Cas and the universe doesn't like Dean one bit, he doesn't stay upright.

By the time Dean turns around to hand him back his keys, he's slumed to the ground, his face resting on his knees. He's not snoring quite yet, but that's as much as Dean can say for how awake he really is. Or well, it’s not _quite_ just the sleepiness.

"Oh jesus. Come on, Cas," he mutters, crouching so he can look him in the eye. "Cas?" He shakes his shoulder lightly, but he doesn't budge. Just leans into Dean’s arm and settles. "Oh fine, you asked for it."

It's been awhile since he's carried anyone to bed. Especially like this; with his only goal being getting the other into bed and tucked in with a blanket. He's done his fair share of carrying people in his arms, carrying them to bed with their legs wrapped around his waist and their mouths exploring his neck. Which, okay, Dean doesn't mind perse -- no, Cas is too fucking handsome to be alive in the same universe as him. Dean certainly wouldn't mind.

In fact, he's been waiting to have a look at the tattoos on his thighs and the tattoo on his back for a very long time. But not when Cas's curled up against his chest and is resting his head in the crook of his neck.

“Jesus, you’re worse than Sammy, you know that?” Cas is heavier than Sammy was the last time he put him to bed , now over a decade ago. He manages  to get him on the couch however, finds a blanket and drapes it over his sleeping form.  “I should take your shoes off, shouldn’t I?”

To his credit, Cas only stirs and almost kicks Dean in the face once, which is a small victory.

“I had fun tonight,” Cas mumbles when Dean pulls him up so he can take his coat off. “Thank you. For hanging out with us. You’re good company.” Dean’s heart skips a painful beat at the look on his face, at how much he seems to mean his words.

He can barely ignore the urge to press a kiss to the top of Cas's head when he settles on the couch again, blanket pulled tightly around him. It would be awkward and it would wake him up, which he really didn't want to do right now.

“So are you,” he says quietly, crouching by the couch, “but it’s late, Cas. Go back to sleep.”

He's snoring again by the time Dean heads for the front door.


	4. three

Naturally, when life goes the way Dean wants it to, it gets hectic. Really hectic. With winter approaching, people are lining up to have their car tires replaced and even though it's a quick process, he feels like he's drowning most days. With Bobby out of commission for anything but desk work after breaking his leg, all the work ends up on his shoulders. Sure, he can hire someone to help him out even if it's just for two or three weeks, but he too knows their financial situation.  They can't really afford it.

If it means crawling into bed each night with his muscles screaming at him to just stop moving and a headache pounding against his skull, he'll take it. Overtime means more money and more money means getting to live just a little bit more comfortably. Sure, getting out of bed in the mornings can be hard, but he manages. He shows up at work and goes through the motions, before going back home, cooking dinner and going through the motions again.

Lately, however, that has changed. Changed in the way that he has Cas to break up the days that just seem to be dragging on and on and on. His texts change Dean’s days, as pathetic as that might be. First, it was a sole text at the end of his work day to remind him to take care of his tattoo. Slowly, they started to text back and forth.

Now, Dean has a good morning message waiting for him and a message to read during his lunch break -- something he admittedly keeps from Bobby. Once Bobby knows, his mom will subtly call to ask if he'll come over for dinner and then roast him about this mysterious Cas.

Which, okay, it could be worse. But Cas is his for now and he's not quite sure if he's willing to open up about it just yet.

 

 

Jo allows the smile to fall from her lips as she slips into the last room on her list. Ever since she was moved from her ER duty to the Intensive Care Unit, her life has been all forced smiles and no more seeing her girlfriend for most of the day. So when she can go ahead and let that mask fall, she takes her chance. It's not like Jessica -- still comatose Jessica -- will mind her nurse being a little bit grumpy.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see seven pm approach," Jo sighs before setting to work. "It would be really helpful if you could talk and help us out, you know." Jo thinks she should come around soon, now that she's starting to heal. Her skin isn't stretched as tightly over her bones anymore and her stats have started to stabilise with less and less intervening on their part.

"I hope you're around when I come back later," she says. "Tomorrow? You've been really active." They've been slowly lowering her dose of drugs so it's not as crazy a thought. She might as well.

Anna is waiting for her downstairs, Jo knows that. Even though they've been having a lot of conflicting work hours, they've been doing well. Her heart swells each time she passes her girlfriend in the halls and their eyes meet for just a few moments. She lives for the stolen kisses and quick lunches in the cafeteria before they both need to get back to work. Jo's found more reasons to smile than she has in a really, really long time and it's scary. Right, but scary.

Scary because of how new it is, how so many people know already. Hospital romances are messy, can be disasters but for them, it's going well now. Now. What in the next couple of weeks? What if everything changes?

"I'll see you tomorrow," she promises Jessica before stepping away from the bed.

She only gets a few paces away from the bed when something changes. Even though she can't pinpoint what, the _atmosphere_ changes. For a moment, she's frozen, her muscles locked and breath catching in her throat. There's a hand on her arm.

By miracle, Jo doesn't scream. Just turns back. Turns back to see a panicked pair of eyes meet hers.

"Help. Please."

 

 

It's just like the old days, somehow. They're all sitting around Jo's coffee table, Chinese take out on their laps and a movie playing in the background. They're watching a movie, although they're really just pretending to. Movie nights are a good distraction, though. Dean can't remember why they decided on having one in the first place, but he's pretty sure it's either because  a) they haven't in such a long time that neither of them can remember when that was and b) Dean needs some relaxation right now or he would have a mental breakdown.

Now, they're just laughing. Not even at what's happening on TV or anything, no. They're laughing about his pining for Cas and not letting him see the end of day - which, okay, he deserves it. Because, let's face it, whenever there's no text from Cas waiting for him during his lunch break he's disappointed and okay, yes, the good morning and goodnight texts are what get him up and running. That's not Jo and Anna’s business though. It's his. And maybe Cas's.

"Just ask the guy out, Dean," Jo says, trying to keep the noodles on her chopsticks and failing. “How long has it been now? Three weeks?”

“It's been a month," he admits, reluctantly. He shouldn't sound so defensive, but he can't help it. "You and Anna were way worse, okay. Can I have my moment to work through Cas’s complete disinterest? Thank you.” In fact, the disinterest is growing. Dean can feel Cas getting more and more bored with him and he doesn't know what to do with it. In fact, he's sure that Cas is seeing someone and just not telling him. Even though Anna has told him more than once that no, her cousin is not seeing someone else, he can't believe her. Dean's noticed the change in their texting, how much longer it's starting to take Cas to reply, how much he's pulling away. Ever since he noticed it, he doesn't know how to handle it. Maybe Cas has noticed just how real and out there Dean’s feelings are and got scared. It wouldn’t be the first thing that Dean completely fucked up because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.

 _Score one for Dean Winchester,_ guy _who could quite literally fuck everything in his life up._

“Do you ever pay attention when you two are talking or are you really that blind?” Anna asks him, rolling her eyes when he just shrugs. “Take it from me, Dean. You won’t regret it. Talk to him."

"I don't know."

"Take it from Anna, Dean. Talk to him before I hear both of you complaining about each other even more. You're both messes, you know that." She sighs. "Look, can we continue watching Star Wars now?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay, great. Thank you.”

 

Cas is waiting for him outside of the garage a couple days after, a coffee in each of his hands. He’s leaning against the impala with a smile on his lips. Dean has to admit, he likes seeing him again. In the past few days, it feels as if he's pulled away further and further. This morning, there was no message and even at lunch, it was nothing more than a quick hello.

If he’s being honest, Dean doesn't like people leaning against his car. If anyone does what Cas is doing, they get a smack against the back of the head. Yet, he doesn't seem to mind now that it's Cas. It almost looks like he belongs there.

Admittedly, it's probably because of the coffee he's holding, but still. Except that... it's Cas. He could probably insult his favourite books and Dean’d forgive him.

“Coffee?” Cas asks. "Figured you could use a fix."

"You're a saviour," he sighs, thankful for the warmth. It's too warm, but he drinks anyway. It's heaven in a cup. "Marry me,” he says before he can stop himself, cheeks turning red once he realises just what he’s said.  It's crazy how quick Cas can have an effect on his mood.

“Are you talking to the coffee or to me?"

“You? Both of you, actually.” Okay, maybe it's too quick a save, but he doesn't seem to notice. The coffee is warm enough for Dean to feel it run all the way down to his stomach, where it settles like a little ball of warmth and happiness.

“I don’t know if I’d do well with polygamy,” Cas muses. “Isn’t it sort of cannibalistic, to consume your spouse?”

“I suppose.” Dean shakes his head, trying to keep his smile from spreading further. “I guess I’m stuck marrying you, then.” His heart skips a beat as he says the words. “Where am I taking you, hubby?”

“Well hubby, I was hoping you could drop me off at home?” Maybe it's just Dean’s imagination, but he thinks he can hear nerve in his voice. “Do you think you could come in for a minute too? I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

“Sure," he says as they pull onto the road, the radio still playing quietly in the background. "Casa Novak it is. You okay?"

"Yeah, we just need to talk." He's going to complain. He's going to say he doesn't want to see Dean anymore, that he's caught on to how he feels about him and doesn't reciprocate the feelings.

 

Dean really shouldn't be surprised to see Cas's apartment clean. It always is, no matter when he drops by. He's only been over a couple of times, but each time it was almost pristine. He's not sure why he almost expected to see something else this time around.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, standing by the door a little awkwardly as Cas toes off his shoes and his coat. He knows he can go sit down, but he feels like he maybe shouldn't. He follows Cas in taking off his coat, hanging his leather jacket besides the other man’s trenchcoat.

"I -- ah." Cas looks at him; gaze locked on his eyes and then slipping his attention to his lips. He starts to reach out, seems to stop himself in his tracks before he can.  “Oh, fuck it.” He steps closer and Dean's suddenly very aware of just how fast his heart is beating, of how gentle Cas's hand is when it lands on his shoulder. "Can I kiss you, Dean?"

He can feel Cas's breath ghosting against his skin. His heart skips a painful beat now as his brain registers what’s being said. He wants to answer, but can't; his mouth refuses to form any words, his brain is  caught in an endless loop of _Holy shit, Cas wants to kiss me_.

"Yeah," Dean breathes. Cas just shakes his head at his reply, grin on his lips and one hand resting at the back of Dean's neck. Simple as that, he leans down and kisses him: lips soft against Dean’s, fingers gentle as they play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

It's not until he pulls back and rests his forehead against Dean's and tells him: 'breathe, Dean' that Dean he realises he's holding his breath.

"Holy shit," Dean whispers before diving back in, hands resting at Cas's waist, at the soft skin where his jeans just barely dig into his flesh. It's not until he has this -- Cas under his fingertips, his aftershave lingering in his nose and the damn guy himself, smiling as if he's just seen a puppy for the very first time -- that he realises how much he's been craving it.

How much he's wanted to feel Cas close and bury his face in his neck and feel his five 'o'clock shadow against his skin. How much he's wanted kisses just barely tasting like coffee and Cas's thumb gently stroking the back of his neck.

He never realised just how much he's been drowning and how he's now finally, blissfully, coming up for air.

“I was going to ask you out,” Cas offers sheepishly and damned if that doesn't make Dean want to kiss him again, just because. Three is always the charm, right? So it's exactly what he does.

“I think I prefer this,” he says. “Was the coffee a cover up or...” It's not like Cas hasn't brought them coffee before. There have been a few times Cas showed up with coffee and they had a quick lunch together -- usually to bribe Dean into fixing Cas’s sink, for the third time that month -- so it's not out of character for him, but still, he wonders.

“Yeah.” Cas shakes his head, stepping back so they're not awkwardly standing in the middle of the entrance to the apartment. “Gave me something to do. An excuse."

"I see," Dean says. "No sinks to fix this time?" He glances around to the clock. "God, you're going to want to kill me. I want to kill me for it, but I should probably go soon." He really doesn't want to go; it almost feels safe being so close to Cas. His mother has asked him to come over for dinner, come keep her company for a little bit, even if it's just for one meal.

"Oh?" It might just be wishful thinking, but he thinks he can hear the disappointment in Cas’s voice.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. It's just that I promised my mom I'd come over for dinner, keep her a bit of company. I'd ask you to come, but. You know. Unless you want our first date to be a dinner with my mom, it might not be a good idea.”

“Oh, hell no,” Cas speaks so fast that Dean almost can't keep his laugh back. "Your mom may be a total sweetheart, but no."

“Thought so. You can say no if it's too soon but, come over tomorrow night? We can just stay here, have dinner? I can cook you something or we can get take out, watch a film. What do you think?” It feels safe enough. It's nothing he wouldn't do with Jo or Anna. Even though they did just kiss -- which he's still trying to wrap his head around -- he doesn't want to rush things.

“I’d love to. What time are you thinking?”

“Six pm? Gives me some time to prepare and stuff.” The _and stuff_ being nothing but cleaning and making sure his apartment doesn't  look like the mess it is right now. “Does that sound alright?”

“It does. I’ll be there. Six pm.”

“Good.” Dean grins, dipping in for a quick kiss. He can do that now. He can really do that now instead of just hoping. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Cas steals another one of those quick kisses before letting him reach for his coat and pulling it back on. He almost expects yet another one, but Cas lets him slip out of the door, the grin still etched to his face.

 

 

Dean has been telling his mother lies since his fifteenth birthday. For weeks, she didn’t think twice about his meeting up for dates or ‘study sessions’ that popped up out of nowhere. Except, now that he’s older and has moved out, he seems to have lost his touch.

He hadn’t quite wanted to tell his mom about Cas yet. It’s still early after all and he doesn’t want this to blow up in their faces. Which, if he tells everybody, might happen. The second she asks him about ‘ _special people’_ in his life however, he cracks. Which, okay. She probably already knew because of his grins and cheery mood. She's excited enough for him though, even writes out their family's recipe for the chilli, something he's been bugging her about for months. She even leaves him with more advice on how to cook it and how long to leave it be so it’s be perfect. Which he appreciates, he really does.

It's the meal his mother made when she cooked for his father for the very first time. It kept him coming back. Dean just hopes Cas will like it too, that he will be coming back.

 

And that he likes a bit of spice. After the incident with the chili powder and smoked paprika — he’d misread his mother’s writing and use tablespoons instead of teaspoons — he's not quite so sure their throats won't catch on fire if they should eat too much.

All is relatively well, until the doorbell rings and Dean starts freaking out. Because what if he's allergic to anything in the chili or what if he won't like it.

 

Cas rings his doorbell at six pm sharp, when Dean has just turned off the burner. His timing is impeccable, per usual.

He's gorgeous as ever, especially now he's dressed up just a little. Looking at Cas, Dean feels a bit underdressed, even though he is still just wearing his jeans, except with a nice dress shirt. He shaved his stubble before coming and Dean's not sure if he mourns the loss of it or not. He looks good with a stubble, but a clean shave is good on him too.

The beer in his hands, however, is something Dean welcomes open heartedly.

"Didn't know if I should bring wine or beer," Cas says sheepishly, "figured beer would be a safe bet." Dean just pulls him inside and kisses him. It's every bit as good as it was yesterday.

“Ooh, you smell good,” he sighs happily. “You can leave your coat by the door, shoes too if you’d prefer that. You like chilli, right?”

“I do," Cas says with a smile on his lips. "One of my favorites, actually. How was dinner with your mom last night?"

"It was nice," Dean replies, leading Cas to the kitchen so he can put the beers in the fridge and get them something to drink. "It's always good to see her, man." Sure, they have a small makeshift family, but it's all they have left. She is all he has right now, it's not something he wants to lose any time soon. “Do you see your parents often?”

"Not that much," Cashe admits, "they live a couple of hours away. It's not always easy to get to see them. We get together for holidays, however. They really are great people." Cas has started to explore the living room and Dean just lets him, amused by what his eye falls on.

He checks out the books first, sliding his fingers along the spines with a small smile on his lips, and then moves to his movies and TV series.

"Is this your brother?" he asks, looking at the pictures on the wall next to the book shelves. Dean knows which picture he means; it's one of Sammy, just five years old and sitting in the Impala, a toothy grin  on his face. His legs are so short they don't reach the edge of his seat and he can barely reach the wheel, but he's loving it. Sam always did. He looks really out of place but he's so happy, so incredibly happy. Dean loves it just because of that.

"Yeah, that's Sam," he says, walking over, to stand beside Cas. "He looks more like my mom than I do, got more of my dad in me." He takes the picture next to it from the wall. "Sam is a good kid. Was? Is? I never know what to use. Anyway, this is my mom, that's my dad."

"You got the Kaz tattoo for him, right?"

"So you were paying attention," he says. "Yeah. Figured it was the only thing I could do, you know?"

"I'm sorry they're not looking for him any more."

"Life sucks." He doesn't mean to sound so bitter about it. After all, there’s nothing there anymore, they won’t find anything. It’s good they’re not giving them hope anymore. His mother and he can move on now. Or, try to, because how does one ever move on from something like this? "They have their reasons to stop looking. Besides, he's always here in some way, isn't he?" He smiles as he pats his thigh. "Thank you for that, by the way. It turned out great. Do you want a beer?"

“You're a good canvas." Dean's not sure if he's flirting, but damn he'll take it. "Which film are we watching?"

“Take your pick? I don't really mind. There's plenty to pick from."

  


As far as first dates go, Dean has to admit he enjoys himself more than he thought he would. They eat their chili in a bowl and on the couch, with blankets on their laps and an old James Bond movie playing in the background.

Dean's pleasantly surprised by Cas’s movie choice, even if they don't really watch any of it. They do for about five minutes before they're talking and laughing and trashing the actors.

It's the most fun Dean has had in awhile, if he's honest. Each time Cas does something too cute, Dean’s heart does that little squeezy thing. Which, admittedly, happens a lot. So much that he almost fears for just how much longer his heart is going to survive.

Sure, there are dishes piled up in the kitchen, but they can wait. There's always tomorrow.

 

Admittedly, they get a little drunk. By the time eleven comes around, neither of them have had enough to wake up in the morning with a pounding headache, but enough not to drive safely.

It's not even that much of a conversation, Dean has to admit - he just passes Cas an old pair of sweatpants to sleep in, points him to the bathroom and starts getting the couch ready to be slept on.

And okay, yes, he does a double take when Cas comes out of the bathroom and he sees how good they look on him. Almost as if they were meant to be worn by him.

“I guess it’s time to say good night, then,” Cas sighs, looking almost apologetic.

“Five am is early to get up,” Dean says, “I understand. Don’t be afraid to wake me up, by the way. Just do what you usually do in the mornings. If you can’t find anything, just ask me, okay?”

“I will. Thanks again.” Cas smiles at him and maybe it's just the exhaustion speaking, but he can't help but smile himself. “I had fun tonight. Thanks for asking me over.”

“Of course. Good night, Cas.” He leans down, to press a kiss to the top of Cas’s head, but he just pulls him down so the kiss lands on the top of his nose. The laugh that bubbles up his throat feels good, _right_. “Now that was a lousy good night kiss, wasn’t it?”

“Then try again,” he says, a smile on his lips. He can feel that smile as he presses a soft kiss to his lips, and then another, for good measure. “Good night, Dean.”

 

Dean doesn’t wake up the following morning when Cas leaves the apartment, not until his alarm clock wakes him up at seven am and he grumpily pushes it to the side.  The place is clean, the dishes done and there’s a little post-it note waiting for him on the kitchen table.

_Thanks again for the nice night. Have a good day.  -Cas_

It’s not until he’s at work, bent over the hood of a car that he realizes he didn’t have a nightmare that night. For the first time since Sam disappeared, he didn’t wake up screaming his name, he didn’t wake up with the feeling his hands were soaked with his brothers’ blood.


	5. four

It’s almost easy, slipping into habits, accepting Cas into his life and his home. Just like the good morning and goodnight texts found a way into his heart and into his routine, their weekends together do too. It’s a slow progression, from every three or so weeks to every other week to every week.

Sometimes, they’ll go into town; walk around and have their adventures. On other days, they just… lounge around. They’ll sit on the couch or stay in bed and watch a movie. Dean secretly thinks they’re the best days; the days when he can just curl up next to Cas and not care if he falls asleep halfway through. Except that maybe, okay, Cas likes to take pictures when he’s sleeping and he’s not quite sure how he feels about seeing his own sleeping face as his lockscreen.

With the end of November and the start of December coming around, things start to quiet down in the garage. With the school year already almost halfway through, most of the cars destined to break down have broken down, so the traffic they get from that has died down.

It’s great, because with people being busier and not having time on the weekends between dropping the kids off at soccer and then ballet, they don’t have time for tattoos, either. Which means that Cas gets to leave the shop early and Dean too gets to leave the garage before the end of his shift. It’s the best.

He doesn’t quite know what he’s done to deserve these good cards in life. Why he gets to be this happy for now. But he’s grateful for it, more than grateful. Cas is there, curled up against his chest on the weekends. They eat breakfast at noon on Sundays, go to bed too late but don’t care about it too much.

It’s almost scary, how quickly Cas gets so anchored in his life. After only two months, it feels like they’ve known each other for much longer. It’s as if Cas has always been there.

So yes, it’s scary. Dean’s petrified. But Cas is worth it, he is so worth it.

 

As if things weren’t already scary enough, Dean invites his mother over for dinner one weekend, when they’re at his apartment. Which he’s always thought would be okay. His mother is amazing, Cas is amazing. They can’t help but like each other, right? His nerves shouldn’t be attempting to give him an almost heart attack before he’s even thirty, but oh boy if he isn’t wrong about that.

Since coming home from work, Dean’s scrubbed every inch of his apartment, splurged on groceries – even going as far as to get the good ones instead of the off-brand ones. He’s checked that everything is still working, taken out the trash and even washed the pillows that are usually on the couch. Nothing can go wrong.

He’s even made sure that Cas will be on time by telling him to be there an hour before his mother is due to arrive, even though Castiel is never late. That way, he will still be in time if he runs into traffic or anything like that. They’re prepared.

Dean also soon learns that all his worrying was for nothing. Cas just sighs and kisses him before helping him in the kitchen until his mother arrives and after that? They warm up to each other ridiculously fast. By the time dinner is served, they’re laughing and cracking jokes and his mother has promised Cas to show him baby pictures one day. Something Cas seems more than thrilled about, to Dean’s great dislike.

He still doesn’t know how his heart survives the evening; from all the nerves before his mother’s arrival to all the times it’s skipped a beat because of how beautifully Cas fits into his small makeshift family, how right he seems to be.

 

When his mother leaves that night, she pulls him to the side and just smiles. Says that he looks happy again, that Cas seems to be a great guy and how he’s been very kind. Sure, she’ll have to pretend not to like him for a while – Dean’s father can’t be there to do the whole gun threatening and the ‘don’t hurt my boy’ talk,  so she’ll have to – but she in fact does like him and the fact that he makes Dean happy.

“You guys seem right for each other,” she says before pulling him into a hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I really hope it works out between the two of you.”

“Me too mom, me too,” is the only thing he can reply to that. The only way he knows to put it. “Thanks for coming.”

“I’ve spend enough time cooking for you, of course I’ll come over if you ask me to.” Just like that, she heads out. He can’t wipe the smile off his face for the rest of the night – or maybe he can when he sees the massive pile of dishes which still need to be done –  and even for the next few days, he rides the high of their night.

 

Dean’s smart, he knows things. Like he knows that, especially if things are going well, it’ll mean things go south at one point. He knows people always leave eventually, that jobs are temporary. Bad days scare people away. He’s expected it, really. Things have been too good for too long.

The lucky streak won't last.  He realizes that mid October, when the nightmares catch up with him. It’s been a good couple of days; the nightmares haven’t been so bad and he hasn’t been waking up violently, hasn’t woken up Cas with his thrashing at all.

Except that this time, it’s Cas who wakes him up. There’s screaming and the room is so loud and someone needs to make it stop. It’s not until Cas pulls him into his arms and tries to calm him down that Dean realizes there are tears streaming down his cheeks, that he realizes he is the one who who is screaming.

“It’s alright, it’s alright.” Cas keeps muttering the words, running his fingers through his hair and the thing is, it’s working. The dream – Sammy’s blood on his hands, his ghost coming back to say they’ve given up on him and that it’s their fault he’s gone, it’s all their fault – slowly starts to fade. Sam’s bloody face isn’t the only thing he sees in the darkness of their bedroom.

“Dean?”

“I’m alright. It’s fine.”  He breaks away from Cas’s arms, slings his legs over the side of the bed and rests his head in his hands. His back is sticky with sweat, his shirt soaked through. For a moment, all he can feel is shame, shame that Cas sees him like that. Sees him like more of a mess than usual, and he’s not that well put together in the first place. “I need to. I’m going to take a shower.”

Cas lets him go, confused and worried and with each step he takes, Dean feels his heart beat another painful beat. Because Cas can _let him go_ now. Cas can say it’s too freaky. He’s seen how big of a mess Dean is; he’ll take his things, run away and never come back.

 

Except. It’s not what Cas does. By the time Dean gets out of the bathroom, Cas is sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking through one of the books on his side of the bedside table. The worry is still there, but when he looks at Dean there’s no distance there, he doesn’t seem grossed out. There’s only worry and maybe sleepiness.

Instead of telling him he’s leaving, he pats the spot next to him on the bed, says they can talk about the nightmares if Dean wants to. That he wants to help. If there is anything he can do to help him.

Which is exactly what they do. They talk. Talk about how Sam disappeared and they didn’t notice for twelve days. It wasn’t unusual for Sam to zone out for a couple of days, he would get in the zone and study a lot, so they wouldn’t hear from him. He didn’t always get to call. He was a busy guy, always worked his ass off to get good grades, to make it.

They only drove to Stanford when it started to feel like it was too long. Dean went by himself, knocked on the door of Sam’s apartment for hours before eventually picking the lock and finding the apartment empty. Empty with spoiled food in the fridge and Sam’s wallet lying on the kitchen table.

All his stuff was still there, too. His money, cards and keys. After that, it only took Dean ten minutes to file a missing person’s report and call his mother.

He tells Cas all of this and he just tells Dean he’s sorry, holds him tight. Let’s him hide his face in his shoulder. The posters on the wall, the pictures of Sammy, they all drive it home. Drive home how tired and lonely Dean feels, how much he craves this: comfort and being babied. He falls asleep, his face buried in Cas’s chest and his fingers running through his hair.  

If he hadn’t already been so in love with Cas, this would have done it for sure.

 

Cas helps him track the case and see if anything changes. Just because they’re not looking for his bother anymore, at least not actively, it doesn’t mean there are no other leads. It’s exhausting and Dean would be lying if he said it doesn’t affect their relationship even the slightest. It puts stress on them, but they deal.

They just don’t find anything and neither do the police. Or so it seems.

 

They’re lounging on the couch, three weeks later, when fate decides that their lives haven’t been crazy enough. They’ve had a relaxing evening for the most part;  Cas’s workday ended late and he got stuck in traffic on his way in, they only had time for a quick dinner before Cas refused to move another muscle. Which, okay, Dean doesn’t mind that much. He can do the dishes.

It’s easy now, spending time together, cooking together. They’re almost like an oiled machine; Cas passes him knives or vegetables, helps him with the seasoning and in turns, they stir the pots and keep an eye on timings. It’s great, being able to come home to him, being able able to watch TV together and fall asleep on the couch watching whatever is on that night.  He loves waking up to the smell of coffee—Cas is always up earlier than he is, so he’ll get the coffee started and put in some toast before waking him up, if he even does wake him up.

It’s what they’re doing that night, after all -  hanging out on the couch with Cas running his fingers through Dean’s hair and humming quietly. He’s this close to falling asleep right then and there, curled up against Cas. Which is probably why Cas eventually pulls him up and leads him upstairs. Dean doubts it will take either of them long to fall asleep once they’re in bed.

The sleepiness creates its own atmosphere. One Dean has to admit is more comfortable than it should be. Or at least, it does until the phone rings and makes both of them jump. All of a sudden, the spell is broken.

“Go on,” Dean sighs, “I’ll be right up.” Before getting up, he hadn’t realized how tired he really is. With his legs protesting every inch of movement, he’s all too aware of it. The promise of curling up with Cas and sleeping in in the morning is the only reason he does get up. If he doesn’t whoever it is will probably keep calling and they won’t get five minutes of sleep. “Dean Winchester speaking.”

“Dean?” It takes him a moment to realize it’s his mother , her voice odd and weak. Almost as if she’s nervous or anxious. It’s the tone she used when his father got in the accident and the hospital called to ask them to please come in. It’s the voice she uses whenever there is bad news in the family.

“Are you alright, mom? Did something happen?” There are only so many things he can think of to make her freak out like this.

“Do you think you could come over here, pick me up?” He can almost hear her trembling in her voice. “We need to go to the police.” The silence that falls between them is tense.

“What’s going on? Mom? Did something happen, was there a break in, what happened?” All kinds of doom scenarios are running through his head: there might have been a break in, someone robbed her. She’s hurt. Someone in the family has been arrested.

“Just come here. Please. I can’t drive myself.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She's already hung up by the time he puts the phone back on the receiver.

 

Cas is looking at him with a worried expression when he slips right past him into the bathroom. They already changed into their PJ’s, so he puts his jeans back on, not bothering to put on another shirt. A batman shirt will have to do, for now.

By the time he’s ready to get out of the bathroom, the blood is racing through his veins again, his anxiety growing every minute he has to wait to get to his mother’s house. She didn’t tell him what’s wrong and his thoughts are going wild.

“Dean?” Only when he waves a hand in front of his eyes does Dean realize that Cas is talking to him and probably has been since he slipped past him. “Are you okay? What’s going on. Tell me.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine.” He’s not sure he really is, but he doesn’t need to worry Cas too. “It was mom. She wants me to bring her to the police office. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m driving her.”

A hand stops him when he wants to pass Cas again. “I’ll drive you there.”

“Cas-”

“Dean, I’m not letting you drive like this.”  His hand is still firmly planted on Dean’s shoulder, not letting him move even though he wants to slip past. “I have my car here. I don’t even have to drive yours. Dean, you’re shaking. Let me get my jeans on, splash some water in my face and I’ll drive you. That’s the end of the discussion.”

Dean doesn’t want to wait. He wants to go. Now.

“You can wait and start the car if you want. My keys are on the stairs. I’ll be quick.”

“You don’t-” It would be nice, to have Cas there, to have that support. He knows that if his mother needs a ride, something bad is going on. It can’t be anything but serious, so yes, he’s freaked out.

“I do,” Cas repeats again, before pushing him to the door. “Go, if it calms you down."

 

###

 

The police station is eerily cold and quiet at night. The only thing they can hear in the background is the vague clicking of keys and the barely there noises of a coffee machine. Dean remembers the couple of times they had to come around at night since Sam’s disappearance. Each of those times, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright. It does today.

It’s not because of doom or being scared, either. It’s because of the hope they had each time, the possibilities that were there, but not quite in reach.

“Thanks for coming in so late,” officer Mills says as she leads them into her office. If he’s honest, Dean’s glad it’s her and not Henriksen. He doesn’t know what it is about him, but something about him rubs him the wrong way. “Mary, Dean.” She shakes hands with each of them,  pausing when she gets to Cas.

“Cas,” Dean offers, “he’s my boyfriend.”

“Good to meet you,” she offers. “Again, I’m sorry for hauling you all in this late, but I’m glad for it this time.” She’s smiling, which throws him off. “I’m glad we finally get to have this meeting. You guys have been kept out of the loop on this one, for which we are sorry. A couple of weeks ago, a girl has been retrieved who went missing at the same time Sam did.” His mother squeezes his hand gently.

“Jessica?”

“Indeed. Jessica Moore. She woke up from her induced coma a couple of days ago. She’s only been able to remember enough of the events

yesterday. Because of her, we got a radius of where the bunker they were hidden away in is.” She looks back at her notes, to check something. “She saw Sam there. Right before we called you, we got the heads up they found it.”

“Did they. Did they find his body?” Dean croaks; he almost can’t say the words out loud.

“No. Better. Last time she saw him, he was still doing good. There is a very good chance you will see him again very soon. Alive.”

His mother squeezes his hand again, tighter this time. She has tears in her eyes, he notices absently. For once, her tears are not of disappointment. For month upon month upon month, they only heard negative news, only found out that the person they found wasn’t Sam. That he’s not there. They were simply told that they shouldn’t give up, that they’re looking for him and Sam will come home again.

This time. This time, there’s hope.

Cas takes Dean’s other hand in his, squeezes it tightly and tangles their fingers together. He anchors him, keeps him from flying off. His thumb turns soothing circles in the flesh of  his palm.

Which is the moment officer Mills’ phone rings. All three of them listen and watch, tense and worn, as she speaks with whoever is on the other side of the line and then puts it back down again, smiling.

“Officer Henriksen and the others have just left the scene, with an ambulance in tow. They’ve found him.”

“And the guy who had them?” Mary asks, voice trembling.

“He’ll be brought in, locked up. There is a very good chance he will never see daylight again.” Dean likes that prospect, he really does. In a cruel and sadistic way. His brain isn’t registering any of it. Almost as if it’s gone into a state of shock, as if it’s blocking anything and everything out. He’s not sure he even minds. It helps not getting his hopes up too much. “A car will drop him off and put him in a holding cell until we’re ready to see to him. Sam’s our priority now.”

 

They got that call a few minutes before one in the morning, and they’re on their way to the hospital at five past. Jody offers to drive them by cruiser, tells them they should probably be there by the time the others arrive. Secretly, Dean’s happy with the offer. Even though all of them seem to have gotten new energy from the news, they’re all tired and exhausted and he doesn’t want Cas to drive more than he needs to.

“He might be in a bad shape,” she warns them as they head to the cruiser. “We should get there before they arrive, so. I want to warn you.” Dean heard how bad Jessica was off. Jo and Anna told him how bad she was off and if she only regained consciousness yesterday, he’s scared. Scared for his brother. Scared for how bad off he’ll be. He could be better, though. The girl got injured during her escape, it might have made everything worse.

Dean knows it’s more a dream than anything. But he clings on to it. That Sammy will be better off. His head is too crowded to register most of their walk, there are too many thoughts roaming around. Most of all, he just wants his brother back. He wants to he able to see him and hold him and get to promise him to end the guy for ever hurting him. It’s all he deserves. A painful death and a slow death for all the things that he’s done to all of them.

And, in all honesty, he’s excited about the prospect of Cas and Sam meeting. Cas is a nerd, Sam always was. He wants his brother to approve of him, to _like_ him. Maybe not now, but when he’s feeling a tiny bit better, when he’s started recovering. But he wants them to like each other. For them to be a family. Mary, Sam, Cas and him. For them to be what he never allowed himself to hope for.

 

They get to the hospital before the ambulance and Jody drops them off in the waiting room while she goes over to talk with the other officers already in place. While they’re there, sitting on the hard metal chairs, Cas almost feels like a safety blanket. His touch grounds Dean, the fingers in his a reminder that he’s there, he’s not leaving and they’re not alone in the waiting. Hearing him talk keeps both of his feet on the ground, not letring the fantasies run free in his head.

“Do you want me to go?” Cas asks quietly when they’ve been sitting in the waiting area for a little while. “I can go talk to Anna, maybe sit in the cafeteria, get you and Mary a bite to eat.”

“Please don’t.” Deanknows he must have sounded pathetic, because Cas doesn’t ask him if he’s sure, doesn’t doubt it, he just nods and squeezes his hand again.

“I’ll go get us coffee at least, okay? Otherwise you won’t be awake when he arrives. Mi—Mary, do you want me to grab you something as well?”

“No, thank you, Cas.”  His mother’s leg hasn’t stopped tapping the floor since they sat down. Two ambulances have arrived since they got here and it’s driving all three of them, especially the Winchesters, crazy. Dean’s lost count of how often his heart has started beating faster than legally allowed because they’re bringing a stretcher in, only to realize it’s not his brother, it’s just a college kid with a badly broken bone or the victims of a car accident. No matter how bad it sounds, he doesn’t care about anyone. He cares about his brother.

“Dean,” his mother says quietly. “Dean.” He snaps his gaze up to the entrance, where they’re rolling another stretcher in. He was with his thoughts, didn’t realize, but just the number of police officers walking in with it and accompanying the ambulance staff tells him enough. It’s him. It’s his brother. This is Sam.

“Dean.” His mother squeezes his free hand tightly.

“I know. I know.” He’s not breathing, he’s not even sure his heart is still beating as they rush Sam away, before they can get a glance at him. They’ll need to work on him first, stabilize him. They’ll need to check him out and make sure that he’s okay, that whatever the perp has done to him hasn’t caused any lasting and irreversible damage to him. Years of maltreatment can’t be good for a body, there has to be some damage, some things to look after first.

Dean’s stomach turns, turns at the thought of his brother forever being reminded of this, of all these years because of his body, because of a pain that won’t go away or spots, scars. He might forever have to deal with the things the creep has done to him and there could be nothing anyone can do to help him do that.

 

Dean’s almost just numb by the time a nurse finally calls them over to the room. His mother is already with him, they told her to go in first. If anyone needs be the first, Dean knows it’s her. Even if it’s fighting every instinct in him to let her go in alone — after all these years of being without Sam, of thinking he might be dead, it has to kill her, seeing him again. It’s killing _him_ and it’s just his brother. It’s different. Sure, he wants to burst in there and hug his brother tight, to not let him go for another minute. He wants to protect him until he can’t do it anymore. To tell him to never ever ever do that again.

“Go,” Cas says quietly, “he’s waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t even know what he’s thanking him for. So much has happened, good things, bad things, and Cas’s been there for him so often. He supposes he’s thanking him for everything now.

“Go see your brother.” Cas has no idea how good those words sound. How happy it makes him to finally hear them. And maybe, because it’s Cas that’s saying them, because he _means_ them, because he cares. “I’ll be right here, waiting.” He kisses him — not more than a quick peck to his lips and a chance to act on both his nervousness and happiness — before walking to Sam’s room, hands shaking.

 

The room’s quiet when he pushes through the doors. His mother is clutching Sammy’s hand in hers, carefully avoiding the IV they’ve placed to give him fluids, or so he assumes. He was listening, when the doctor explained them what they’ve done, but he can’t bring himself to care too much about it. He can’t focus on the details, because Sam’s there. His brother is right there.

 

He’s not looking good. Not at all, in fact. He he looks terrible, but all things considered? He could have looked a lot worse. There are cuts on his hands and his arms, some by his temple and around his face. There are scars telling the tale of what he’s been through and god, he looks so thin. So thin that at first, Dean doesn’t recognize him. His hair is too thin, face too pale, skin too bruised.

But, looking at him now, he can’t deny it. It’s him. It’s his brother.

“Welcome home, Sammy.”

 

**THE END.**

 

** **

 


End file.
